


The Outward Side

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:37:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of Skin Deep - What if Sir Maurice only had a son?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Insomnia does this too me. Woke at 6am and was lying, contemplating life and how cosy my duvet was, and was suddenly presented with this idea. It won't be romance, even though it is gender-flipped Belle. Definitely not romance, but something interesting nonetheless.

The walls could not withstand the force of the assault, not for another night. Everyone within the castle knew it. The villagers cowering in the lower cellars knew it. The soldiers sheltering from the hurled rocks knew it. 

Sir Maurice was standing by the window, looking out on the ruins of the town. 

The ogres might be simple, but it was a violent simplicity. Massive boulders were thrown constantly, shattering and cracking roofs, tumbling through the streets. Walls cracked and fell apart, and it was not an assault they could repel. The ogres were weakening their prey, like a sea otter battering a shell off a rock, to break the defences and devour the flesh within. 

"We should pull the troops back," Beau said quietly. He was the son of the Lord, and he was standing by the table, his hand resting on the map. "Papa, if we leave them out there, they're fish in a barrel."

"It's too late, my boy," his father said wearily. "We all are now."

Beau walked across to his side, putting his hand on his father's shoulder. "We could still defend the castle. The walls are thicker than anywhere else. Maybe that'll give us some more time."

"I don't know why you're still expecting him to come!"

Beau closed his eyes, counting to five. He had no idea why his fiancée was allowed in the war council, but no one seemed to be able to keep her out. She was the unfortunate side-effect of making a good impression to a neighbouring King. "We're counting on him, because he comes when he's called, Giselle," he said patiently, turning to the woman. 

"But he's not here!" She flew at him, pummelling at his chest with her hands. "And now, he won't be able to get passed the ogres and the walls, and now, I'm trapped here and we're all going to die, because he's too late!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Everyone in the room turned sharply at the unfamiliar, sneering voice. The man, the stranger, was sprawled in Sir Maurice's grandest chair, one leg draped over the arm, and he was toying with one of the model castles from the map.

He was the strangest being Beau had ever seen, with scaled, glittering golden skin and wide, inhuman eyes. His clothing was equally outlandish, with jagged dragon-hide coat and boots that twisted from foot almost all the way up his leg. His unblinking eyes scanned around the room and his lips drew back from yellow fangs.

Beau gently pushed Giselle to one side, stepping forward. His father was frozen in shock. When Beau had suggested contacting Rumpelstiltskin, no one - not even his father - really believed that the terrifying Dark One would truly come. 

"Rumpelstiltskin," he said quietly, approaching. "Thank you for coming."

The man - demon - tilted his head, watching him. "Your little letter was very interesting, boy," he said. "Help, help, we're dying. Can you save us?" He smiled that horrifying smile. "Of course I can."

The bands of tension that had been wound around Beau's chest for weeks loosened, and he smiled. "Really? You can help us?"

The red eyes fastened on his face. "For a price," Rumpelstiltskin trilled, swinging his leg down from the chair and rolling to his feet. He stalked closer to Beau. "Think about your letter, dearie. Think about what you offered me."

Beau stared down at him. "Gold," he said slowly, realising what a mistake that was. "Oh. Right. Sorry. You make gold, don't you?"

Rumpelstiltskin gave a delighted giggle. "You know your stories," he said approvingly. He tossed the castle to Beau, then walked passed him. "When I claim a price," he said, prowling towards Sir Maurice, "I demand something precious."

"We have land," Beau's father said. He was trembling, and Beau wasn't surprised. Rumpelstiltskin's reputation was terrible indeed, but when it was all that stood between them and certain death, sometimes, being in the Monster's palm is better than the other alternative. 

Rumpelstiltskin waved such a suggestion away, and looked around the room. Soldiers, even hardened veterans of the wars, averted their faces, flinched back. Giselle was sobbing hysterically behind Beau's father. Beau wondered why he was the only one who wasn't afraid. After all, it was simple: something precious for the lives of all the people in the village and the end to the war. No matter how precious something was, nothing could be more valuable than saving the lives around them.

"What's your price?" he asked, setting the model castle down on the table. "We can offer everything we have, but you know what you want."

Rumpelstiltskin spun on his heel to stare at Beau. "Well, well, well," he murmured. "Spirit, boy?"

Beau shrugged, folding his arms. "The ogres are advancing. The longer we delay, the more we lose. This kingdom has already lost too many sons and daughters." He walked closer to Rumpelstiltskin. "Please, if you are willing to help us, tell us what you want as your price."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes were fixed on his face. He was small, Beau noticed, very small for someone so powerful. He was only a little taller than Beau's shoulder but he gave the impression of being like a small powder-keg, capable of exploding at the least little spark. 

Finally, his lips curled up in an unpleasant smile. "Very well," he said, then spun again to face Sir Maurice. "The price for your lands and your people is your son."

Beau's arms dropped down by his sides in shock and his father exclaimed in horror, "Never!" 

Giselle gave a scream and collapsed in a heap of skirts behind him. 

Rumpelstiltskin tangled his hands together in front of his chest. "Him, or no deal."

"Get out," Sir Maurice snarled, gesturing to the door. "You're not taking my boy."

Rumpelstiltskin twirled to give Beau a condescending smile. "Looks like you're quite the precious thing, boy," he said. He bowed mockingly. "Enjoy what little life you have left, all together." He turned to walk away, waving over his shoulder. 

"No," Beau said, stepping forward urgently. "No, I will go with you."

Rumpelstiltskin paused mid-step, tilting his head to look over his shoulder.

"No, Beau!" His father crossed the floor in four paces, grabbing Beau's arm. "You can't."

Beau looked at his father, then around the room at their people, the few survivors. "Better one than all, papa," he said quietly. He clasped his father's hand, then looked at Rumpelstiltskin, "My family, my friends, my town will be safe?"

Rumpelstiltskin turned slowly to look at him, a strange expression in his eyes. "You have my word," he said, bowing extravagantly. He straightened up, looking at Beau with a calculating expression. "Do we have a deal?"

"We do," Beau said before his father could speak.

"Why?" Sir Maurice demanded heatedly. "What do you want of him?"

Rumpelstiltskin smiled, close-lipped. "I have need of a caretaker for my rather large estates," he said. 

Beau squeezed his father's hand. "I'll be fine, papa," he said quietly. "We'll all live."

"Beau, you can't do this."

Beau smiled quietly. "Papa, I can and I will." He looked at Rumpelstiltskin then held out his hand. "Deal."

Rumpelstiltskin stared at him. "It's forever, dearie."

"I understand," Beau said, his hand still extended. "I will go with you forever."

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin stared at his hand, then he stepped forward and clasped Beau's hand with his own. His skin was cold, dry and coarse, like the skin of a lizard. "Deal, then, boy," he said, then giggled at the look on Sir Maurice's face. "Congratulations on your little war."

"No!" Giselle's shriek split the air. "No! You can't take him!"

Rumpelstiltskin's face twisted in a grin. "Too late, dearie," he sniggered. "The deal is struck."

Beau glanced at his father, and they both knew that it was going to be a relief all round to get Giselle well and truly out of their lands. No dowry was worth the screaming and tantrums. "He's right," Beau said, stepping away from his father.

Again, a look of surprise crossed Rumpelstiltskin's face, but it was gone in an instant. "Come along, boy," he said, twirling towards the door. "We have a long way to go."

Beau looked back at his father with a brief smile. Sir Maurice inclined his head in acknowledgement. They didn't need to say anything. Then Beau turned and followed his new master out into the night, and the war faded around them.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining.

Beau hesitated in the doorway of the keep.

"Changing your mind, boy?" Rumpelstiltskin said, grinning unpleasantly. He was standing in the rain, illuminated by the hissing and sputtering torches. The rain didn't seem to touch him, falling around him and rippling the hazy puddles on the ground. "A deal is a deal."

"No," Beau said. "I just want to see that everything is all right. Before we depart, I mean."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes narrowed coldly. "You doubt I would be true to my word?"

Beau looked at him indignantly. "No," he said, "but it has been years since I've seen this place safe and at peace. You said you would stop the conflict. Before I leave, I would just like a chance to see my people safe."

The imp gazed at him impassively, then inclined his head. "You have until the next toll of the bell," he said. "I will await you by the gates. Don't think of breaking our deal, dearie. The ogres may be gone now, but I can bring them back just as easily."

Beau looked at him in quiet defiance. "If you think I value my own comfort above the survival of my people, then you're mistaken," he said coolly. He bowed formally, with all proper etiquette. "I will be with you at the gate at the next toll of the bell."

The imp's eyes flashed with some strange emotion, then he turned and stalked off.

Beau took a shaking breath, stepped out into the rain, and looked around. It was silent, still. For the first time in days, there was no crunch of boulders hitting houses, no screams, not even orders being barked by increasingly desperate commanders. 

He walked the streets, the only sound his footsteps on the wet cobbles. He had been forbidden the time to collect his possessions, and even this was a brief and fleeting respite. He could see the houses that were ruined, shattered, and there were the body of a soldier who had not been swift enough on his feet, trapped beneath a slab as large again as him. The man - and any other like him - would be buried as warriors, he knew. The houses would be rebuilt. They would survive. 

He went on one knee to close the eyes of the fallen man, murmuring a brief prayer. He didn't know the man, only recognising his face from their ranks. It wasn't someone he could name. But whoever he was, he was one of their people, and that was enough.

Somewhere high above him, the bell tolled.

Beau rose at once. It was only a short distance to the city gates, one of which was already open, and he could see the slight silhouette of Rumpelstiltskin framed there. He was standing with his back to the town, gazing out at the battlefield that had been churned up around the town. It was empty, bleak, silent. Not an ogre remained. 

"We have a long journey ahead, boy," Rumpelstiltskin said, without turning.

Beau stepped alongside him. "I'm ready," he said quietly. It was a lie, but he knew he couldn't turn back now. Too many had died, and if he was a coward, too many more could die. 

Rumpelstiltskin held out his arm. "Put your hand on my wrist," he said. "Do not let go."

Beau took a last breath of the scent of his home, then wrapped his hand around Rumpelstiltskin's wrist. It was so thin, he knew he could snap it without any effort at all. Rumpelstiltskin looked at his hand, and Beau wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

The red eyes looked up at him, and he saw a glimpse of yellowed fangs, before there was a sharp tug and his body felt like it was ripped from the ground and tossed into the air. He could still feel Rumpelstiltskin's wrist and held tighter, not daring to think what would happen if he let go.

Abruptly, he was standing back on solid ground, and he took gulping breaths of air. Rumpelstiltskin withdrew his arm. It was cooler now, the air thinner. It was still dark, and he looked around as much as he could.

"Where are we?"

"My estate." Rumpelstiltskin motioned for him to follow through an ornate set of metal gates. There was a long labyrinthine path, wild and overgrown, surrounded on all sides by thick hedges. It looked right for a man who dressed himself in the style of a dragon: a thorny and prickly lair that no one could enter without leave.

In the middle of the mess of gardens and hedges, there was a castle, far larger than Beau's own home. The pale walls were crawling with thick layers of ivy, and it looked more like a half-swallowed tree than a building. The doors flew open at Rumpelstiltskin's approach, and he all but skipped up the steps.

Beau looked around as they entered the main hallway. It was grand, ornate, incredibly beautiful, but there was a fine layer of dust coating everything. His master was already halfway up one of the staircases, and he took the stairs two and a time to catch up. 

"You said I'm to be a caretaker?" he said.

"Yes," Rumpelstiltskin said without looking back.

"How big is your estate?"

Rumpelstiltskin paused at the top of the stairs. "Large enough," he said, then started down a corridor.

Beau fell silent. It was clear that his master didn't want to talk, and Beau had diplomatic experience enough to know when silence was a virtue. He followed like a shadow, until they descended a flight of stairs into a plain, cold hall. A heavy, barred wooden door stood there and Rumpelstiltskin gestured. It flew open revealing a cell. 

Beau stopped short. "What's that?" he asked, aware of how stupid he sounded.

Rumpelstiltskin gave him an unpleasant smile. "Your room."

Beau looked at him, then at the room. "No, I don't think so."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows rose. "Oh, you don't?" he said. "Whose castle is this? Whose servant are you?"

"I think we need to detail to the terms of my servitude," Beau said, then almost immediately regretted it. Rumpelstiltskin didn't look angry, but there was a stillness there that wasn't before, the hunter waiting to leap at its prey, silent and dangerous. "What I mean... that is to say, I said I would come here as a caretaker. You said nothing about being a prisoner."

Rumpelstiltskin took a slow step towards him and laid a single fingertip against Beau's chest. "You were a price that was paid," he said, his voice so low, so calm, his eyes glittering like the devil. "I choose what I do with the price I take."

Beau's mouth felt dry, but years of being envoy for his father, and even longer before that being present in court took charge of his tongue. "But consider, sir," he said, "surely a caretaker who is not frozen to the bone and sleeps on something that is not the ground will be more efficient than one who does."

The red eyes were studying him. "You believe I should amend the deal we made, boy?" he murmured silkily.

Beau shook his head. "The deal stands, sir," he said. "The price for my people and my land was my service as your caretaker. That was the deal as you stated it. There was no mention of cells or being a prisoner."

Rumpelstiltskin's lips twitched in a dark little smile. "Well, well," he said. "You were paying attention, boy." His finger tapped once against Beau's sternum. "But as observed, you are now mine, to do with what I will, and I will have you in that room."

Beau wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, then nodded reluctantly. "Very well, sir." He stepped back and bowed stiffly at the waist. "May I trouble you for dry clothing?"

Rumpelstiltskin's lip curled disdainfully, and he waved vaguely into the cell. A pile of clothing appeared there. The imp inclined his head. "Your room," he said with a mocking little half-bow. 

Beau swallowed hard and stepped into the room. If this was to be his life, he knew, he would simply have to tolerate it. A deal, after all, was a deal.


	3. Chapter 3

Beau was released from his room in the evening.

He was hungry, cold, and tired, but made no complaint . Rumpelstiltskin looked him up and down condescendingly, then motioned for him to follow. Beau fell into step behind the slight creature, marking the route in his memory.

Rumpelstiltskin lead the way to a vast kitchen. It was dark and chilly, but there was a woodpile and he could see what looked like a well-cover in the corner. The imp spun to face Beau, spreading his hands. "What do you know of kitchens, boy?" he asked, a sneer curling his lips. 

Beau tried to school his expression to show nothing. It was better to look calm and neutral than bewildered, as he had found when visiting the Northern realms. "In what sense, sir?"

Unpleasant sharp teeth were bared in a grin. "I wager you seldom descended from your lofty post," he said. "Now, this will be your domain." He gestured around the room with an expressive furl of his fingers. "You will cook. You will clean. You will care for the castle, inside and out."

Beau's blank expression crumbled and he frowned. "You want me to cook?"

"Too menial a task for your Highness?" Rumpelstiltskin smirked.

Beau looked at him. "Hardly," he said, "but you should know my cooking skills are limited to game spitted over a fire. I have never needed to cook for myself."

Rumpelstiltskin waved away his words dismissively. "There are books and recipes. You will learn. If not, you will go hungry." He smiled thinly. "Now, if you will, bring tea to the spinning room when you have managed to concoct it."

Beau bowed slightly, just enough to be civil, and when he straightened up, Rumpelstiltskin was gone.

While he was the son of the Lord of the realm, Beau was not incapable. Years of following the army, and even just watching the servants at work gave him basic lessons. He managed to strike a fire with a flint and some shreds of sawdust, and within half an hour, had a warm blaze dancing in the grate. He filled the heavy copper kettle with water from the well, hanging it on the metal hook over the fire, then crouched by the hearth, warming his hands on the flame.

It was not what he expected, when he offered his life in exchange for his people.

In part, he expected servitude and labour, but to be one of many. So far, he had seen no sign of any other staff in the castle, which surprised him. Why Rumpelstiltskin now wanted a servant, when he clearly had gone without for years before, made no sense.

He rose when the kettle came to the boil, searching the many cupboards until he found a teaset. It was delicate and fragile, but he arranged it on the tray, then filled the pot with boiling water and what he hoped were tea leaves. They smelled like tea, as best he could guess, but there were no labels, so they could have been bay leaves for all he knew.

Still, it felt like mild rebellion to serve something that might possibly perhaps may not be tea to his new master.

Rumpelstiltskin was sprawled in one of the chairs at the grand dining room, drumming his fingers idly on the arm of the chair. He was gazing into nothing, as if lost in some intense thought. There was a fire burning in the grate and it reflected strangely off the imp's glittering skin. Rumpelstiltskin tilted his head to watch Beau's progress across the room, one side of his mouth curving up in a sardonic smile.

"So you managed, I see."

Beau set the tray down. "So it seems, sir," he said. He hesitated, then pulled out one of the other chairs and sat down. Rumpelstiltskin looked perturbed for a moment, until Beau set a cup in a saucer and poured the tea. Beau slid the saucer across the tabletop to him, then set the pot down.

Rumpelstiltskin ran his fingertip along the handle of the cup, studying him. He picked up the cup and drank, but his eyes never strayed from Beau, as if he was trying to read his new servant's mind. His eyes were as unblinking as a lizard.

Beau held the gaze as long as he could, but eventually gave in to the impulse to look away, uncomfortable with such intent scrutiny. There was no sound but the crackle of flames and of his master drinking his tea.

Beau took a chance to glance around from beneath his lashes. There were so many objects around the room that he found himself raising his head to look with greater interest: a strange axe, a sword, a gleaming golden cup.

They were all treasures of some kind or other, though what purpose they served or meaning they held, he could not begin to guess. If this many were in one room, he could only begin to imagine how vast the collection would be throughout Rumpelstiltskin’s home.

"Do you have paper, sir?" Beau finally said, his hands resting lightly on the table.

"Paper, boy?"

Beau nodded. "I have seen little of your castle," he said as mildly as he could, "but I can see there is much to be done. I would like to make a list of duties, and what you would have seen to first."

Rumpelstiltskin's eyebrows arched upwards. "Much to be done?" he echoed, his upper lip curling.

Beau nodded at once. "The kitchen is in no kind of order," he said. "It looks as if the walls and windows have been gathering dust and cobwebs for years, so that must be seen to. The gardens are barely worthy of that name." He looked around. "Is there any inventory of your furnishings and possessions?"

Rumpelstiltskin set the cup down lightly. "You either speak boldly or foolishly, boy," he observed in a silken voice that belied the steel beneath. "I have not yet decided which."

Beau felt a twist of trepidation in his gut. He folded his hands together to keep them from twitching. "You asked for a caretaker, sir," he said. "I held that position in my father's household, managing the serving staff and those below to maintain my father's household. If you do not wish me to tend your house, then tell me what my duties will be limited to." He raised his eyes and met Rumpelstiltskin's with no little defiance, "Because I am no mere cook and housemaid."

Rumpelstiltskin put his head to one side. "Bold or foolish," he said again thoughtfully, brushing a fingertip across his lips. "Tell me, boy, have you a bone of diplomacy in your body?"

Beau picked at his thumbnail. "So I was told," he murmured.

"And yet," Rumpelstiltskin said, "you tell me how to keep my house?"

"Well, you obviously don't know," Beau said, then bit his tongue, wondering if he had just placed his head in a noose. 

The imp's dark eyes narrowed to cat-like slits. "I fear you have been lied to," he said. "That is not diplomacy."

Beau looked at him, then pushed aside the crushing fear that he was about to condemn himself. "Pardon my directness, but you, sir, are no diplomat."

Rumpelstiltskin snorted, but said nothing more. He picked up his teacup again, studying the contents for a moment, then drank.

Beau felt like he could breathe again, as if he had leaped a great chasm, or dodged a terminal swing of a sword. If directness did not have him turned into a toad instantly, perhaps, he thought, Rumpelstiltskin might not be such a terrible master as he initially believed.


	4. Chapter 4

The castle wasn't so much desolate as neglected.

Rumpelstiltskin placed few restrictions on Beau's coming and goings within the walls. He was not allowed to enter the laboratory in the north-facing tower, unless his Master was present, and the chambers where the most noxious and dangerous of Rumpelstiltskin's potions were stored were locked. 

For much of his first day as Rumpelstiltskin's caretaker, Beau started mapping the castle. He suspected it was a futile task, in the castle of a sorcerer who could change the world with a snap of his fingers, but it felt more useful than sitting in the kitchen, reading cookery books.

The castle was circular, which technically should have made matters easier, but it did no such thing. Beau was quite sure that there was some enchantment on the castle so that each window he passed showed exactly the same view. It was only when he started checking each room that he realised he had doubled back on himself. 

He suspected that Rumpelstiltskin was punishing him for his insolence, but if letting him become lost in the castle was the height of his Master's displeasure, it was a punishment that Beau could tolerate.

He started mapping more carefully, going into each room, sitting down and sketching the layout to commit it to his memory. Some of the rooms were barely furnished, others looked like they were abandoned chambers from a King's palace, tables and chairs shrouded in sheets. From the dust on the floor, it was clear that Rumpelstiltskin seldom entered any room but the chamber where he sat at his spinning wheel. 

Most of the room were dark. Thick curtains hung from floor to ceiling, which seemed a waste when the rooms were so large and grand. The walls, where not covered in dust, were a rich, creamy marble that would make the place shine when the sun came in. It seemed to Beau that the castle was only for show, that Rumpelstiltskin needed little more than somewhere to place his spinning wheel, and that the rest of the castle could be left to moulder.

He was powerful, and to maintain the image of power, Beau knew a vast and imposing home was crucial. 

Beau returned to the kitchen with his maps, stacking them neatly on the table. He turned his attention to the array of copper pots and pans with a sense of trepidation. The fire was still burning low, so he took refuge in rekindling it, before facing the prospect of attempting to cook. 

His experiences was limited to the occasions when he had ridden with the army, and as he had forwarned Rumpelstiltskin, the closest he had come to cooking was skewering a rabbit on a spit. 

He ventured towards the pantry. It was well-stocked, but beyond the most familiar items like the butchered meat, sack of potatoes and onions, he had no idea what he was looking at. The herbs could just as easily have been poisons. He knew what they were to taste them, but he had no notion of how much one used or at which point they were added in the process of cooking. 

Rumpelstiltskin said there were books, so he sought them out, sitting down by the fire and picking his way through hand-scrawled recipes. The most simple dish he could find seemed to be some kind of stew. Beau took a deep breath and ventured into the pantry, gathering the listed ingredients, then set to work trying to make some kind of edible meal for both himself and his master. 

Some two hours later, he carried a tray to the table in the room where his Master sat at the wheel. While the dish didn't look appetising, it was edible. He had made sure to try some before daring to offer it to the imp.

Rumpelstiltskin paid no heed to him, thread flying through his fingers and twisting to gold.

Beau set the try down and arrange the plate and dishes on the table. He even included half a loaf of bread, and a small bowl of salt, all the things that had once adorned his father's table, before supplies ran short. 

Even though Rumpelstiltskin's back was to him, as soon as he finished laying the table, his Master seemed to know. Rumpelstiltskin rose, stalking towards him and the table, casting a critical eye over the meal. "A passable effort," he said grudgingly. 

"I would wait until I tasted it, if I were you," Beau admitted with a rueful smile. 

Rumpelstiltskin folded down into the chair. "I have seen much worse," he said, which was a strange, almost backward compliment. He tore a piece of bread in half, and held a piece out to Beau. Beau hesitated, then accepted the token, sitting down at the table to sprinkle the bread with salt. "You are not eating?"

Beau shrugged. "You've made my place very clear," he said. "A servant eats in the kitchen, not at his master's table."

Rumpelstiltskin's dark eyes studied him. "Well remembered, boy," he said. There was something, some undertone in his words, that Beau couldn't quite put his finger on. "A man should know his place."

Silence fell. 

Beau chewed on his bread, keeping his eyes down while Rumpelstiltskin ate.

Only when Rumpelstiltskin laid down his knife did Beau look up.

"How many chambers are there?" he asked.

Rumpelstiltskin studied the contents of his wineglass. "What manner of chambers? Bed? Bathing? Parlours?"

"All," Beau said. "There are so many on the first level alone. I was wondering at the scale of my task."

Rumpelstiltskin looked at him. "Many," he said. "Some hundred, perhaps. I have never cared to count them all." He rose abruptly, abandoning his wine to go to the fireplace and pick up his pipe. 

Beau looked at him. It wasn't surprising at all. Whatever he was, it was quickly becoming apparent that Rumpelstiltskin was accustomed to living with the bare minimum: of limited space, of the most basic food, of a dearth of human contact. Perhaps it was the nature of the creature that he was, but Beau didn't think so. There was something there, something that spoke of smallness and poverty.

The powerful monster lived in a grand castle, as monsters were meant to, but it was all part of the facade.

Beau rose, and gathered up the dishes. There was some secret in this castle, something the imp kept hidden. Beau glanced at his master, who was standing by the fireplace, smoking a pipe. 

Well, he thought, as he picked up the tray, he had forever to find out.


	5. Chapter 5

By and by, Beau learned how not to burn the porridge. 

The first time he attempted it, he discreetly disposed of the pan afterwards, unable to hack the burned out mess from the bottom. Even steeping it in boiling water did nothing, so the pan disappeared behind the wood pile.

It wasn't that Beau was a proud person.

It was just mortally embarrassing that he could not even manage to follow basic instructions in a cookery book. It took four days before he didn't simply end up with something that resembled a thick wedge of oat biscuit.

Rumpelstiltskin just had to subsist on bread and cold meats until Beau could produce something that both looked and tasted something akin to the porridge he was used to from home. Enough honey, and it tasted fine.

His Master made no complaint when he was offered bread and meat, and neither did he comment when the bread and meat was replaced with warm porridge. He simply ate what was laid before him, keeping one eye suspiciously on Beau.

Beau had made it his habit to sit some way down the table from his Master while Rumpelstiltskin ate, working through his notes for the day. It had taken close to two days simply to map the ground level. The task in dealing with the castle was a monumental one, but by breaking it down into set duties, it made it seem less intimidating. 

So far, he had only succeeded in cleaning out the kitchens, and sweeping through and polishing everything in the room where Rumpelstiltskin settled to spin. Those two rooms were the most significant, but now, he knew he had to start venturing further into the castle. He'd tried to make a start on other rooms, little by little, even if it felt like the dust would smother him, and he had emerged sneezing more times than he cared to count.

He heard the rattle of Rumpelstiltskin laying the spoon down in his bowl, and he looked up the table. The imp had his teacup cradled between his hands and was watching Beau as a scientist might watch a curious experiment.

Beau sorted through his papers.

"Are the gardens a priority?" he asked.

Rumpelstiltskin's fingertips drummed against the side of the cup. "The snows will be coming soon," he said in an abrupt tone. "Unless you want to enjoy a bout of pneumonia, I would hardly recommend it."

Beau was surprised that Rumpelstiltskin would even consider the matter of his well-being, but then, he had provided dry clothes on his first night. He would not want a sick servant, Beau supposed, even if he made that servant sleep on straw in a cell. That said, the cell was not uncomfortable. The straw was dry and the window hardly seemed to let in a draught.

"Very well," he said, putting the sheet regarding the gardens to one side. "I'll restock the wood pile before the snows come."

Rumpelstiltskin set the cup down, his fingertips still lightly cradling it. "What makes you think that is necessary?" he said, his eyebrows drawing together.

Beau looked at him in puzzlement. "If we're using the wood, surely it would need to be replenished," he said.

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. "Your powers of observation are not as shrewd as you might believe, boy," he said. "Next time you take in wood for the kitchen fire, be sure to check the height of the pile."

Beau opened his mouth to ask, then closed it again. "Magic," he said.

Rumpelstiltskin tilted the cup in his direction, one side of his mouth curving in a mocking little smirk. "Indeed."

Beau laid down his papers and propped his forearms on the table, looking at Rumpelstiltskin with a thoughtful frown. "So you can do anything through magic?" he asked. 

"Anything I desire," Rumpelstiltskin said gloatingly with an extravagant gesture of one hand. 

Beau knew a foolish person would have asked why a servant was needed then. A foolish person would not have noticed how the imp did not dismiss his indentured servant from the table or that in the evenings, when the imp sat at his wheel to spin, he did not object to Beau's presence as he worked through his lists of duties at the table. They hardly exchanged a word, except over Rumpelstiltskin's meals, but Beau could tell that his presence was not unwelcome.

"Well," he said instead, "thank you for the woodpile. The last time I tried to fell a tree, I almost killed myself."

Rumpelstiltskin widened his eyes in mock-shock, one hand flying to his mouth. "Oh no," he said sarcastically. "We can't have that. What would I tell your father?"

Beau's heart jumped at the mention of his father, but he started leafing through his papers again, keeping his eyes down as if it made no difference to him. "You could tell him it was like the incident when I was twelve."

Rumpelstiltskin sipped at his tea. "And why, pray, was a noble's son cutting down trees?"

"Because the woodcutter's son said he could ride a horse better than I could cut a tree," Beau said with a wry smile of recollection. Both of their fathers had dragged them back to their respective homes to be stitched and bandaged and given a stern talking to. "He broke his arm, and I was only lucky to be knocked on the crown with a branch."

Rumpelstiltskin was silent for a moment, and Beau glanced at him. He was shaking his head in something between bemusement and amusement. "Boys will do foolish things in the name of honour," he observed. 

Beau couldn't help but smile briefly at that. "I think it would be more accurate to say that boys do foolish things. We aren't the brightest of creatures in our youth."

"Mm." Rumpelstiltskin's gaze had drifted into middle distance. "I recall."

Beau watched him guardedly, wondering where his thoughts were. It felt like prodding a sleeping dragon with a stick as he asked, "Do you?"

Abruptly, Rumpelstiltskin rose, knocking his chair an arm's length back from the table, and pushing his cup and bowl aside. "Enough," he said curtly. "You have work to be doing."

Beau nodded, rising at once, gathering up his paperwork. He collected the dishes on the tray, then tucked his papers under his arm. Rumpelstiltskin had retreated to the spinning wheel, his back to Beau, and the wheel was already creaking softly as it turned.

There was a tension in his master's posture as he stood at the wheel that hadn't been there before. Whatever thought it was that Beau had disturbed, it was enough to drive Rumpelstiltskin to dismiss him.

Sometimes, Beau chastised himself as he made his way from the room, men who were no longer boys sometimes still said and did foolish things.


End file.
